


A Night Off

by Legendgrass



Category: RWBY
Genre: 7.6, Deleted Scenes, Dirty Dancing, F/F, Gay Panic, and also everything else, rated T for Neon saying ass, that's all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:33:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25642852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Legendgrass/pseuds/Legendgrass
Summary: Of all the things Blake had expected to happen tonight, feeling Yang pressed up behind her, guiding the tentative movement of her hips with her own, was not high on the list.In fact, it was not on the list at all.
Relationships: Blake Belladonna/Yang Xiao Long
Comments: 14
Kudos: 128





	A Night Off

**Author's Note:**

> I guess canonically it's bi panic but you know what I mean.
> 
> have y'all seen the post that's 'lesbians will watch 4 seasons of a show just for one tiny bit of validation'? well it was 7 seasons and it was rwby and I still didn't get enough so here's a fanfiction about it

The dance club was a lot louder than Blake had expected. She supposed she should have figured as much from Team FNKI, but she’d let herself have a sliver of optimism for tonight. A foolish decision, really.

She pinned her feline ears to her head as soon as she and her companions stepped through the door and the cacophony hit them full in the face. The entire venue was full to the brim with chattering voices, milling bodies, and a driving bass pulse under cranked-up party music, and strobing spotlights made the scene that much more overwhelming. Team FNKI burst into cheers upon entry, which was echoed back from the crowd. Blake’s first instinct, on the other hand, was to take a step back, but Yang was there, blocking her escape just as much as she provided a grounding force in the midst of the tumult.

“Pretty wild, huh?” the blonde spoke cheerfully into Blake’s lower ear to be heard. Then she must have noticed the other girl’s discomfort, because her palm flattened steadyingly against Blake’s shoulder blade and a note of concern entered her voice. “Think you can handle it?”

Blake couldn’t have spoken over the music if she tried, so she settled for giving a tentative nod. She’d come this far; she wasn’t about to back out of a fun night off just because it was loud enough to raise her blood pressure several notches. Especially if Yang wanted to be here. Blake figured she owed the other girl more than enough to bite the bullet for one lousy evening.

She’d take a few minutes to get acclimated, though, and the perfect opportunity struck her when her eyes landed on the bar off by the left wall. It was lightly populated, and she could see a row of water bottles on the bottom shelf behind the counter: fare for those below the legal drinking age, as she. She turned to Yang to catch her eye and nodded towards it, announcing her intentions. She didn’t want to disappear into the crowd and leave her partner hanging, wondering where she’d run off to.

Well, again.

Yang blew her bangs off her brow with an annoyed huff of air, but when Blake started toward the relative sanctuary of the less crowded bar, she followed. She was begrudgingly used to Blake’s party pooping habits. It helped that Blake usually gave in to whatever she wanted to do eventually (she never could hold out for long), and tonight would probably be no different.

They staked out a seat at the end of the bar nearest the door for an easy escape (Blake’s White Fang habits died hard), farthest from the tipsy patrons working on drinks less innocent than water. The brunette had to order from the bartender at a shout, but pretty soon she had a seat under her, a water bottle in her hand, and an antsy Yang at her side. The blonde neglected to take a seat for favor of exerting maximum peer pressure on her partner through the force of her hovering presence. Blake felt a little bad for making her wait, except she doubted Yang would be having much more fun with Neon than she was bugging Blake.

Even so, it didn’t take long for the blonde to break the tension. “Come on, we’re here to dance, not sit around and nurse _waters_ ,” she griped, making a show of sighing and slouching in the very picture of impatience.

Blake fought a smile as she sipped at her water. “You saw me try to dance earlier,” she reminded. Turning in her seat to skim her gaze over the crowd, focusing on where FNKI had gathered a virtual mosh pit around them, confirmed just how out of her element she really was. Her half-smile fell. “I’m beginning to think I should have gone to the movies instead.”

“Hey, don’t say that.” Yang’s response was immediate; no hesitation. When Blake looked at her, she found only earnesty in those violet irises. It was still a little inconceivable to her that Yang believed in her so strongly after…everything. “This is our night off; at least give it a shot,” she encouraged; a golden-hearted saint. Then she grinned. “I’ll help you!”

Blake lowered her eyes rather than dwell too long on the vivid image in her mind of Yang dancing. She’d gotten used to forcibly steering her thoughts in a safer direction recently. “How…” she began, but paused. What was she really trying to ask? “How do you feel about that, Yang?”

“About what?” Yang rested her elbows on the bar to lean in so she could hear.

“Our _mandated_ night off.”

That earned a harrumph. Yang turned around so she was leaning back on her elbows to face the dance floor rather than the bar. “Honestly? I think it’s not the best idea, what with Salem and the Grimm knocking on our doorstep.” She kept her admittance low enough that only Blake could hear—risk of public panic, and all. Then she slid her eyes to her partner to gauge her reaction. “…but I also think we could use the break, and I’m gonna make the best of it.”

Of course. Blake nodded mutely. She’d been thinking along the same lines (as usual), but she felt a little less comfortable with it than Yang obviously did.

The blonde picked up on her hesitance and ventured ahead, always willing to run in headlong so Blake wouldn’t have to. She pushed off the bar and nodded toward the chaos of the dance floor, raising her right arm in offering. “So what do you say, partner?” Her lips curled in that little smirk that Blake found so irresistible (but would _never_ admit it aloud). “May I have this dance?”

Blake kept her eyes down like that might suppress the blush rising to her cheeks and beyond. The feeling spreading through her echoed the one she’d had back at the Vytal Ball, except _so_ much stronger. She may as well have had a flame Semblance too with the way she lit up inside when her hand made contact with Yang’s. “You can have _all_ my dances if it means I don’t have to hang out with Neon,” she said to relieve the tension building in her own chest. Maybe Yang didn’t notice that her voice wobbled ever so slightly.

If she did, she didn’t pay it any mind, because she laughed and pulled the brunette toward the dance floor with all the enthusiasm of a starving man seeing food for the first time. Blake stumbled along behind her, leaving her water half-drunk at the bar. She had a feeling she wouldn’t be coming back to it anytime soon. The thought left her torn between excitement and anxiety.

She clung tightly to Yang’s hand as the blonde bulldozed them a path through the writhing crowd toward Neon and the others. Blake was bounced to and fro like a pinball by the blustering bodies, but the metal fingers round her hand kept her tethered to her partner. She had no idea how people found this sort of environment enjoyable; she wouldn’t have come here on her own in a million years.

Flynt, Neon, and the rest of Team FNKI seemed to be having the time of their lives, though. The pink-tailed Faunus was the center of attention, leading her team in a frenzied dance-off that practically left smoke trailing from the floor from the way their feet shuffled and shimmied. Strangers shrieked their praise from the safety of the sidelines. The sight and the noise had Blake wanting to dig in her heels and call it a night, but Yang was thinking the very opposite. The blonde released Blake’s hand in order to jump into the middle of the action, picking up the dance halfway through without so much as a stutter. Blake crossed her arms in her go-to self-comfort stance and tried not to feel jealous when Neon butted up right next to Yang to welcome her into the fray. She wasn’t… _twerking_ , was she?

“Blake!” Yang didn’t give her time to stew. She put a bit of space between herself and Neon to reach out to the brunette again. “Are you coming?”

Blake groaned to herself, and the noise was lost in the swell of the music. Sometimes she really wished she was able to say _no_ to this girl. But alas, Yang was Yang, and Blake was drawn to her like a moth to a, well, flame. She ventured into the chaos of FNKI’s party zone and once again entered the orbit of her sun.

“I said I’d help you, didn’t I?” Yang drew her into the shelter of her embrace in order to speak into her ear, and for a second the atmosphere in the room didn’t seem so crushing. Then she pulled back so that her feet were visible to Blake and guided her gaze down. “Okay, watch.” Without missing a beat, she launched into the same dance move she’d been trying to show Blake back at the dorms, but in half-time this go-round. And Blake watched (she really did!), but when Yang nodded for her to try, her attempt still looked more like a weird little river dance than a mimicry of running footsteps.

Yang burst out laughing—again. “Seriously?” She planted fists on hips and shook her head in wonderment. “All those crazy acrobatics during combat and you can’t handle a little jig?”

Blake tried not to let her twinge of hurt show, but her drooping ears betrayed her. She already _knew_ it was sad; Yang didn’t have to point it out. Her eyes slid away and landed on Neon, who was tearing through the dance steps Blake had just botched without a hint of hesitation. She shrank into herself further. “I—I’m trying.”

“Here,” Yang prompted gently and held out her hands, ever patient when it came to Blake. “One more time. I’ll walk you through it.”

Blake clung onto her proffered grip for support as they faced each other and Yang went through the motions of the dance again, even slower. She waited for the brunette to echo each one of her movements before going on, commenting and correcting as they went, and as Blake trailed after her instructions she gradually upped the tempo till their feet almost matched the music. Only, Yang was the only one who managed to keep up at that speed, and Blake found herself tripping herself on tangled legs instead. It was confirmed: she was hopeless. This time, though, she didn’t feel so bad about it, even considering the pitying stares Team FNKI was shooting her way. Maybe it had something to do with her partner’s hands in hers. That tended to make things much more bearable as a general rule.

In any case, Blake soon gave up in a fit of giggles, hiding her face in Yang’s shoulder as if that would make her less flustered rather than more. Her heart skipped at the feeling of the other girl’s responding laughter cascading through both their bodies.

“Okay, okay.” Yang recovered first, unsurprisingly. “Maybe we should try something else.” She dropped Blake’s hands and the brunette lamented the loss until one of them resettled on the curve of her hip. _That_ was unexpected. At least until Yang continued, “Slow dancing worked okay for you at the Vytal Festival Ball, right?”

 _Oh._ Blake gave a bashful nod. Sure, she was fine at the ball, but this was obviously not the same thing. There, the steps had been easy. There, they’d been surrounded by friends and calmer music and respectable etiquette. Here? Here was dark, and loud, and messy, and complicated, and the crush of people was sure to push them a lot closer together than the school dance had allowed. Did she really want to put herself in a position where temptation might be that strong? Blake trusted Yang, but she didn’t really trust herself. Not with the feelings that she’d been trying to force down since…hell, since before the fall of Beacon. 

Yang didn’t seem too worried about it, but then again, she rarely was.

And her hand was already perched on Blake’s hip in anticipation of her answer and Blake was thinking she’d very much like to try a dance she could actually _do_ and FNKI was otherwise occupied, so… 

Why not?

(Blake could think of a hundred reasons why not.)

She stepped in anyway, sliding one hand up to Yang’s shoulder and the other into her waiting palm.

Yang squared up their bodies and flashed Blake a bolstering smile before easing them into motion. She led the dance the same way she held Blake: surely but gently, radiating confidence as she always did. Blake found herself pressing into her grip unconsciously. As the warmth between them grew and the space between them narrowed, she closed her eyes like that might block out the thought _hold me like this forever._ It didn’t work.

Yang noticed. “You okay?”

Blake raised her brows without opening her eyes and neglected to answer. She could never get a lie past Yang anyway. Instead, she steered the conversation someplace safer; someplace she might not get so flustered, as their feet moved in tandem below them. “Where did you learn to dance so well?” she asked.

“Oh, this?” Yang’s voice lifted like she was surprised; like she hadn’t considered her dancing to be anything special even when it _was._ Who else on Remnant could manage to nail everything from a wild breakdown to a mild waltz? Blake could feel her offhanded shrug beneath her left hand. “My dad,” Yang provided. “We didn’t know what sort of music they’d be playing at my first dance at Signal, so he thought I should be prepared for anything. Overkill, if you ask me.”

Blake hummed through a slight smile, enjoying the image of an overearnest Tai Xiao Long drilling young Yang on a variety of dance steps. That and the feel of her partner guiding her through theirs, body warm and steady and hard and soft all at once. “He did a good job,” she complimented, so low she almost hoped Yang didn’t hear.

And maybe Yang didn’t, but it turned out that it didn’t matter, because just then Neon caught on to what they were doing and just _had_ to ruin it.

“You can’t _slow dance_ to this!” her strident voice shattered the comfortable tension between them with enough enthusiasm that Blake was sure she relished it. “This is sexy music! You have to dance sexy.” She gave a little demonstration: a roll of hips and toss of hair that left little to the imagination, then drifted away as smooth as if she were still on her rollerskates, heedless—or maybe not—of the mess she’d just left behind.

The mess being Blake’s composure, that is. “Um—” 

Of course Neon was _right_ that their dance didn’t really match the music, which had just transitioned into a deep, driving (okay, maybe sexy) dubstep mix, but that had kind of been the whole point. Blake and Yang tended to do their own thing. Especially when one of them was evidently physically incapable of doing what everyone else was doing (e.g. dancing). Only, now that someone had pointed it out, Blake felt just as uncomfortable with their countercultural slow dancing than she had been walking into the club in the first place.

Not that she expected to find sexy dancing any more manageable.

Panicked eyes landed on Yang’s face to find it dangerously agreeable. The crooked smile on the blonde’s lips hinted that she wasn’t just _unopposed_ to a little risky action; she might even be excited about it. Blake took a step back, a stammered excuse blundering from her lips before she even knew what to say, because she was certainly _not_ about to—

Yang’s hand on her wrist stopped her. The taller girl stepped in to speak directly into Blake’s ear over the music. “I know how to do that, too. If you’re up for it,” she murmured. When she pulled back, the strobing lights almost made it look as if she was blushing.

Trepidation flooded ice-cold through Blake’s veins. _No, no, no._ This is exactly the thing she’d been afraid of. Slow dancing with Yang had been difficult enough for her stupid teenaged hormones to stand. She couldn’t begin to guess how much worse _sexy_ dancing would be. If she slipped up and let the world know that she’d been crushing hard on her partner for the better part of a year, she’d be dead meat. Especially at _Neon’s_ mercy. She had to get away now, before the heat and the pressure and everything perfect about Yang made her do something she’d regret.

Except, the hopeful, gentle way Yang was looking at her right now was making her _want_ to so something she’d regret. It made her think that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to let her feelings out into the open, because maybe—just _maybe_ —she wasn’t the only one who was feeling them.

Hadn’t Yang said she intended to make the best of tonight?

Couldn’t Blake give that a try for once, too?

“Okay.”

The simple, fateful little word had fallen from her mouth before she even knew what was happening. The radiant grin that broke out over Yang’s face meant she couldn’t take it back. It also meant that Blake had no idea what she’d just gotten herself into.

That is, until the grin turned a little mischievous and Yang pulled back a few steps to give herself space to move to the music with a teasing, “Watch and learn, princess.” And then she started _dancing._

When Blake thought of the phrase _dance club,_ the first thing that came to mind was the erratic, tipsy sort of hop-about dancing that the majority of the room was doing. It wasn’t so much dancing as it was just spending energy alongside a crushing crowd of people. The second thing she thought of was the breed of showoff hip-hop that FNKI had taken to, which she automatically scorned just because Neon liked it. It ran in the same vein as the first type of dancing: high-energy and fit for a club vibe.

But the thing Yang was doing now would never have even occurred to Blake as a form of dancing. At least, not in a place like this.

In the glare of the spotlights, Yang’s pale skin practically glowed against the rest of her form. The blonde played this expertly to her advantage. She rolled her shoulders and her hips in time with the music in such a way that attention was drawn magnetically to the moving parts—and thus, directly to her cleavage and the exposed strip of right thigh. If that wasn’t bad enough, she had her arms raised above her head, fingers plowing through her own thick hair so if Blake tried to tear her gaze away from her gyrating body, she found herself entranced by that striking feature instead. She tried not to imagine replacing Yang’s fingers with her own; drawing the blonde in close so she could feel the enticing roll of her hips against her own body; letting herself get swept up in the flow of the motion—

Blake blushed so hot that her mouth went dry as a desert. “…Oh,” she croaked out, fully to herself. That was the most eloquent thing she could possibly think of right now. It felt like there was static buzzing between her ears, and it wasn’t just the deafening music this time. Her feet were rooted to the spot as Yang broke off her dance and approached her again.

“Think you can do that?” the blonde asked between slightly winded breaths that definitely did _not_ help Blake pull her mind out of the gutter.

The brunette opened her mouth to respond (with what, she had no idea), but naturally, Neon chose that moment to shove her nose bodily into their business once more. “Who are you kidding?” she cackled as she danced by, performing something very close to twerking on Kobalt, now. Somehow it was markedly less attractive than anything Yang did. “Flat-ass Belladonna couldn’t do sexy if she tried.”

 _Damn._ Blake’s shoulders slouched in shame. What business did Neon have pointing out her insecurities like that? She was like a foil to Yang: she always knew what to say, but in a _bad_ way. Blake refused to raise her head to meet her partner’s reaction, afraid she’d be laughing. “I see what you mean about Team FNKI,” she said into her own shoulder.

“Don’t pay her any attention, Blake. Your ass is perfect,” Yang broke through her melancholy haze the same way she punched through walls: easily, explosively, and with no concern for collateral damage. The way they were standing right now, leaned in to one another to hear over the music, Yang’s hands were mere inches from said feature, and under circumstances she may have even graced it with a playful pat. But Yang looked anything but playful right now, holding Blake’s gaze with steady intensity. The feline might have blamed her blush on the lighting again, except the strobes had just transitioned into a haze of purple-blue, not red.

Instead of trying to answer Yang directly (because she still had _no_ idea what to say), she cleared her throat and declared, “Show me how.”

Yang’s serious expression gave way to a flicker of a smile. It almost looked…proud? “C’mere,” she invited, jerking her chin toward the section of the dance floor she’d just vacated. Probably because it was farther from Neon. Once there, she lined herself up next to Blake and fell into a looser stance, nodding for Blake to follow suit. “You just kinda…” Once again she launched into the contrasting hip-and-shoulder roll that had rendered Blake speechless just a moment ago. This time she only kept it up for a second before stopping and turning expectant eyes on her partner. “Yeah?”

“Y-yeah.” Blake made herself meet Yang’s eyes to pretend like she hadn’t just been staring at her boobs. Then, she supposed, it was her turn. With a blush heating her cheeks again, she gave the dance a tentative shot, but just couldn’t seem to nail the same roll and rhythm Yang so effortlessly managed.

It must have been worse than she’d thought. Yang laughed, but not in the same derogatory way that always left Neon’s throat. Shaking her head, she stepped behind Blake close enough that the brunette could feel the heat coming off her and laid a hand on her hip. She probably said something that might have been, “No, like this,” but Blake was too busy panicking at her touch to register it.

Yang was touching her. She was touching her on the _hip._ She was beginning to move through the motions of the dance and the inch between her front and Blake’s back quickly closed as Blake failed to follow along and now they were basically spooning standing up and the music was still deep and insistent and sexy and -

Of all the things Blake had expected to happen tonight, feeling Yang pressed up behind her, guiding the tentative movement of her hips with her own, was not high on the list. In fact, it was not on the list at all. It may have been on _another_ sort of list she had stored in the back of her mind, but not one she’d ever actually expected to happen. Blake was quite honestly having trouble accepting that this was reality. The only thing keeping her from writing this off as a dream was the fact that Neon was still visible on the edge of the crowd. Blake would never include _Neon_ in her private fantasies.

And as scary as this development was—as hard as her heart was pounding right now—Blake was finding that it wasn’t altogether unenjoyable. She risked leaning into Yang a little; letting herself pick up the thrust of hips and rock of shoulders until she was dancing along, too; _way_ better than before. They fit together just right, and Blake had no trouble following along when Yang was right up on her; encompassing her senses, sparking a strange yet familiar flame deep in her gut. She took a long, deep breath in and out, and this time it wasn’t nerves that made it tremble.

Then Yang’s breath was suddenly right on her upper ear, and “Tell me if I should stop,” was vibrating against the velvet fur as soft as the music would allow, and the rest of her retreated a handsbreadth away, like—

Blake didn’t realize she’d grabbed for her partner to keep her from pulling back until her fingers landed on the pale strip of skin at Yang’s unzipped pant leg. She tensed, an apology already stuttering to life on her lips, but Yang didn’t seem fazed. In fact, the only change was that her grip on Blake’s hip tightened deliberately. The touch sent a shockwave rippling from the spot. It was in that moment that Blake’s inhibitions were swept completely away in the face of something much more powerful—much more effectual.

The truth was, Blake _wanted_ this. And even if she wasn’t ready to trust herself yet, she trusted Yang with her life. If she could count on her partner to have her back in a fight, why not on the dance floor? Why not…more? 

So as much as it scared her, she let the tension trickle from her shoulders, relaxing back into the welcoming curves of Yang’s form. At the same time she felt the uncertainty leave, she felt that strange something else crowd into its place; something was much warmer and darker and altogether lower on her person. It made her lean her head back against Yang’s shoulder just enough to bring her lips next to her ear and whisper hoarsely, “Don’t stop.”

For a whole heartbeat Yang was startled into stillness. It was almost enough time for Blake to seize up in panic again. Almost. Then Yang murmured a smooth “Yes ma’am,” against the fuzzy base of her ear and started dancing again, and somehow this time it was different.

They moved perfectly in sync, flush against one another, and Blake had a feeling that it wasn’t a sudden epiphany of coordination on her part, but the fact that she couldn’t feel the rhythm so much as she could feel _Yang_ and that was enough. Yang was always lending Blake the strength to do things she never thought she could. She was always at her back, one way or another, guiding her. Complementing her. Completing her. Yang accepted her even when she didn’t deserve it. Even when she’d already lost so much because of her.

Blake couldn’t understand why, but even after everything, Yang still wanted her. And she wanted Yang.

As if she’d read Blake’s mind, Yang pressed them closer together and abruptly their grinding bodies moved no longer for the sake of the music, but something heavier; more poignant, that they’d never dared bring into the open before. Every thrust made Blake want more; more of the heat and the contact and the feeling it stoked in her; more of _Yang._

Even as she thought it, the blonde’s right hand reached down to slide her fingers between Blake’s, cool metal holding her palm to warm skin. The other inched up from Blake’s hip toward the scar just inside the ridge of bone and brushed feather-light fingers over the spot where the mark lay. If Blake’s heartbeat had been quick before, it was nearing light speed now, and she breathed raggedly from the pressure of raw feeling pulsing from its wake. Yang’s fingers circled tenderly over the scar, an apology as much as an advance, and a shiver tore through Blake hard enough that she was sure her partner noticed. If not, she certainly noticed when Blake shot up a hand on instinct to bury it in her golden locks, fingers tangling there desperately like she’d wanted to do mere minutes ago. That or the groan that unintentionally slipped from her throat, surely tangible against Yang’s chest. 

In response Yang let her head drop forward just enough that her lips were no longer by Blake’s ear but her neck, and every breath sent goosebumps flooding across the skin. Any closer and Blake would have called it a kiss, but Yang was careful not to cross that boundary; to leave behind the ambiguous in favor of something more intimate—more intimidating. Blake tightened her grip on Yang’s hair, wanting for all the world to pull her an inch closer and cross that line, but bone-deep fear still held her back. She was left fighting with herself, torn between the fear and the feeling that had eaten her up for what seemed like ages—the one that flared up whenever Yang was near.

She never got to choose.

The song ended, and the bubble popped. The hot, heavy tension that had surrounded them for the whole dance dissipated like a sigh. Blake was left panting, tangled up with her partner who was radiating, _burning_ with heat even as it felt as if a bucket of ice water had been dumped over their heads. The feeling that had been pulsing in her chest (and, admittedly, other places) became tinged with shame as she realized how close she’d gotten to potentially ruining everything. She hid her emotions for a _reason,_ she reminded herself. She couldn’t just give in to temptation every time Yang did something sexy.

This was exactly what she’d been afraid of.

Blake groaned and hid her face in her hands as they broke apart. Her back was still to Yang, and she almost didn’t want to face her. She didn’t want to see the damage she’d done.

“Blake?” Yang called softly, sounding like she’d just woken from a dream. Was that a hint of hurt in her voice?

A metal hand landed on the brunette’s shoulder, and she forced herself to turn, trying to keep the agony out of her eyes. Yang didn’t deserve to have tonight ruined for her, too. “Yeah?” she managed, drumming up a tiny smile.

Yang saw right through her, and her brows furrowed over intent violet eyes. “Hey.” She stepped closer, hand sliding from Blake’s shoulder to the side of her face. “Whatever you’re upset about, you shouldn’t be,” she said. “We’re okay. It’s okay.” She tilted her brow against Blake’s comfortingly. “Okay?”

Blake closed her eyes to keep from staring at Yang’s lips—despite everything, she _really_ wanted to kiss them—and drew in a deep breath. On the exhale, she forced her anxiety out along with the air. Yang was right. They were okay. Of course Yang wouldn’t mind sexy-dancing in the dark with their hands all over each other, so why should Blake? Right?

Right? 

Wrong. 

She’d crossed a line and she knew it. The shame came flooding back full-force, and Blake lowered her head away from Yang’s miserably. “Yang—”

_Ding!_

A notification popped up on both of their scrolls simultaneously. That could only mean one thing: trouble. A whole different kind of trouble than Blake was already in.

The feline let out a heavy sigh and let her head fall forward against Yang’s shoulder as the blonde pulled out her scroll. It was safer there. “I knew this would happen,” she spoke regretfully into the fabric, and she didn’t just mean the interruption.

Yang laid her free hand against Blake’s back as she navigated her scroll with the other. A news report began piping through: Jaques Schnee had won the election (under not at all suspicious circumstances), and RWBY had some damage control to do. She let out a matching sigh. “Of course,” she said, managing to still sound chipper. “It’s us, after all.” 

Wasn’t that the truth?

Before Blake could scrape together a suitable reply—something that managed to include _sorry I led you on_ and _well it wasn’t actually leading you on because I’m in love with you_ and _fuck Jaques Schnee_ and _not literally, but you can fuck me instead_ and _seriously, please don’t leave me_ without actually saying any of those, Yang beat her to the punch.

“We’ll have to do this again sometime.” The blonde nudged Blake’s head up with a knuckle under her chin so their eyes could meet, and what Blake found there was somehow exactly what she’d been looking for.

She let out another sigh, but this one held a note of relief. “Yeah,” she agreed softly. And when Yang didn’t immediately let her go, Blake found her eyes drifting down again, to those lips she couldn’t bring herself to kiss—not yet—she repeated herself, softer, but with certainty: “…yeah.”

…


End file.
